


good samaritan

by serenfire



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, M/M, Newt is such a sugar daddy I can't even, Now with smut!, Praise Kink, Prostitute Credence, Shower Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Totally Unintentional Sugar Daddy Newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenfire/pseuds/serenfire
Summary: Credence is turning tricks on the corner. Newt is chasing an escaped beast down the alley.It's the start of something, at least.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s four in the morning, the clock reflected in the window of the jewelry store just passing over the hour mark. Credence sits on an upturned apple cart, the one he usually returns to for a feeling of serenity and safety and familiarity after a rough night. He combs through his hair, now unruly and stinking of sweat and sex, and tries to gauge how he looks in the jewelry store window. With the minimal light surrounding him, he only looks like a blob of a human in a threadbare suit, an adolescent playing at the adult world. 

Which is ridiculous. Credence sits higher on the apple cart, and finishes tying his shoes. His last client wanted him out of his convertible as fast as possible after the deed was done, and Credence barely had time to hide the money in the hidden pocket in his coat before he was unceremoniously pushed out of the backseat, pants unbuttoned and freshly stained. His shoes were thrown out after him. 

Credence leans against the wall, allowing himself to stretch for the first time in the six or so hours he’s waited at this corner, after waiting at the speakeasy a block away after the dinner rush. There he only got one shot glass tip, and isn’t as woozy as he would like to be by this time. The taste and effects of illegal drinks almost make up for the fact that his day job, passing out leaflets for the New Salem Philanthropic Society, starts in three hours, and he’s been sleeping at the church recently, having been kicked out of his apartment by a landlord who could appreciate ‘his kind’ less. 

His teeth ache for a smoke, for the drag to calm his nerves, alight in the early winter morning. He’ll wait at the corner for another hour yet, hoping to catch the last stragglers emptying out from the underground clubs, whistling riffs of jazz tunes as they look for someone to spend the last dregs of their crumpled bills on. 

Credence doesn’t know when he closes his eyes, but his next conscious thought is falling from the apple crate, hitting the damp cobblestones with his already-stinging palms. 

He scrambles to his feet, every muscle in his body screaming to take it slow. “Who’s there?” he asks to the dark alley, not yet infected by the first rays of morning. The jewelry store window proclaims it to be almost five, and was he robbed? Did someone take his earnings from his secret pocket? 

Credence reaches for his pocket to make sure his money from the night of hard work is there, and his hand paws at empty air. His coat isn’t on him. 

“Hey!” he shouts at the empty air. “Who’s there?” 

“Shh!” someone barks from further down the alley, and Credence almost jumps out of his skin. He didn’t actually expect the robber to stick around, unless looking to pursue his other services, too. 

“Did you take my coat?” Credence demands, striding down the alley, ignoring the pain radiating down his back and beyond. Maybe it’s just a possible customer, and maybe he prefers the Credence all his regulars know: meek, hesitating, flushed Credence. So he adopts his hunched posture, just in case. 

He can only see the back of the man, with a coat and suit with far more patches than anyone walking down this alley, holding an overgrown case that’s opened, facing the end of the alley bathed in shadow, holding the case out like a peace offering. 

“Mister,” Credence says, “I’m the best lay this side of the river, but I’ll have you know, if you stole my coat, I will unleash hell--” 

“Shut up!” the man hisses at him in an English accent. 

Credence balks, but it’s not the first time tonight clients have wanted to use his mouth in other ways. “I can do that,” he admits, and the man still isn’t looking at him, slowly inching toward the end of the alley. “But it’s twenty extra if--” 

“Stop talking!” the man says. “Sorry, chat later, this is kind of a delicate situation--Frank, you get back in here! I know you like the smell of the gutter, but you’re not meant for the sewers. You’re meant for wild pastures and a friendly ecosystem! Now, get back in the case, please, before you pick up the scent of any other creatures out here.” 

And from the corner of the alley, a beak emerges from the shadows, Credence’s coat draped over it. 

Credence crosses himself. “A monster took my coat,” he whispers. 

“Not quite,” the man rattles, all the while holding his opened case eagerly at the monster. “But yeah, if you wish. Look, Frank, I’ve even got a fresh cut of meat for you, just for you, if you get back home.” From his own coat, he holds up a hunk of raw meat, and Credence can see the monster’s nose twitching around his coat full of the only money he has to buy food for the next week. 

“That’s it,” the man coaxes, and slowly the shadows part to reveal an overgrown bird, a dull gold in the light, with wings curled around his back, stalking towards the man in search of the meat. “There we go,” he says, as the monster gets close enough to Credence to touch, and Credence can’t move a muscle. 

The man holds out the meat and gently takes the coat off of his nose. The monster snarls, and even the man freezes at that. 

“He wants your coat,” the man whispers. “How willing are you to give it to him?” 

“Get my money first,” Credence says, half-paralyzed. This was worse than the first time someone pressed fresh bills into his hand and offered to take him back to their place for a tumble. Then, he didn’t know how to react, so he just nodded and let his actions do the talking. Now, he can’t move, can’t scream, and he’s definitely not drunk enough to imagine this. 

The man reaches for the coat pockets, and the monster, chewing on the raw meat, tenses. The man removes his hand. 

“You will have to get it,” the man says. “He doesn’t like my scent.” 

Credence nods, but doesn’t move until the man curls fingers around his wrist oh so gently and guides his hand to the coat fluttering in the wind. His hand is only inches away from the monster’s giant beak. It can peck his hand off, could devour his entire arm, and Credence might be called a freak now, but without an arm he’s finished. 

He slowly reaches into the secret pocket and withdraws the crumpled bills, making sure to clutch every single one of them before he pulls his arm back. 

The monster bumps its beak against Credence’s hand full of money, and Credence hisses through his teeth, freezing in place. 

“It’s okay,” the man whispers to him, only inches away from his ear, the foreign accent curling around him. “Frank’s only acquainting himself with your scent.” 

It’s unpleasant when his clients do that, and to have a demon reminiscent of a bird sniff him is really the worst thing to happen today. But the monster--Frank--only brushes his beak against Credence, and then shoves his face in the case. 

Credence jumps back, heart hammering, money still in his shaking fist. He is still alive and with all his limbs intact, which is an improvement from what he thought would happen. 

Frank disappears inside the case, and flutters his wings until he falls into it. Credence stares as the man closes the case, locks it, and shakes it for good measure. 

“There!” he says, turning to Credence. “All done.” 

“What just happened?” Credence croaks. “Are you a witch?” He’d never actually believed Mary Lou and the warnings on her programs, just slipped them in the back pockets of anyone who looked at him twice and nodded towards an alley. But now they come to mind, bright red pictures of the Devil destroying humans and the end of the world. 

The man squints. “Wait, you’re the one from the New Salemers. The one who’s not a child.” 

“Credence Barebone,” he introduces himself. “Have I met you before?” 

“Oh, no,” the man shrugs, but he’s a terrible liar, biting his lip and blinking rapidly. “Look, I’m sorry about what you had to see here--” and from his pocket he produces an actual wand. 

“You are a witch,” Credence says. It’s a testament to his startling line of business that he doesn’t scream. 

The man seems to deflate. “I don’t like Obliviating people, especially leaving them without clothes and such. You’ll probably think it was your fault your coat’s gone, and you have enough to deal with as it is--by the looks of it. Look, here’s my coat--” 

Credence can barely get a word in edgewise before the man is shrugging his own baby blue coat over his shoulders, the fabric warm from his body heat, and Credence melts into it. He doesn’t know how cold he is, how numb his arms are, until he’s not cold anymore. 

“Thank you,” Credence says. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone about your magic. You saved my life, Mister.” 

“It’s just Newt, please.” 

“I could always repay you, Mister Newt.” Credence raises an eyebrow and looks up from his shaken, slumped posture, in a look he knows is irresistible. 

“Oh, no please,” Newt says, though Credence can see his flush in the pre-dawn light. “I don’t want to trouble you. Just trying to help.” 

Credence wets his lips, and before he says something embarrassing and probably caused by the jitters of being alive despite the odds, Newt takes another look at his arm. 

“Oh, Frank drooled on you,” Newt says. “And you’re freezing. I can’t just leave you here in good conscience.” 

Credence snaps his mouth shut. What’s on his sleeves is probably not monster drool, but Newt doesn’t need to know that. Being invited somewhere at this hour in the morning is almost unheard of, and he could use the extra heat. 

Newt asks, “Can I take you back to my flat? Not--not for anything, I’m still on the job, but for something to warm you up?” 

Credence could think of several quips about being warmed up, but he’s already melting into the English man’s coat, and he shudders in ecstasy to see what his apartment is like, so he nods wordlessly. 

Newt curls one strong arm around him and jerks his wand, and Credence feels himself fold out of existence. 

He reappears inside an apartment, significantly warmer than the ice-covered streets, a fireplace in the wall with a roaring, cozy fire. 

Credence blinks. Around the fire are several animals with fur, tentacles, and feathers, sitting and purring on levitating couch cushions, paws outstretched towards the flames. Their beady eyes all snap towards Newt as he pockets his wand used to teleport them. 

Newt tsks. “Marley, Steven, Priscilla, I told you to not expose yourselves like this to the outside world. You never know who might come in--a lost neighbor, the doorman, anyone!” He points towards Credence, who is about ready to melt onto the floor, with toe-curling comfort more than shock at the unnatural animals making themselves home in Newt’s apartment holding more wealth than the homely coat indicated. 

Newt notices the way Credence is dead on his feet, and shoos the animals off the cushions, waving his wand in the air so they reform into a couch that Credence sinks into. 

Newt sits on a cushioned chair across from him, a teapot and two cups levitating through the air and landing on the table. “Tea?” Newt offers. 

As Credence isn’t concentrating on thawing his fingers and toes and nose, he finds it significantly harder to bother to keep himself awake, and he yawns. 

He immediately stifles it into his hand, as there is a possibility he is still on the job, and could turn this well-doer into a client. “Please, Newt.” 

Newt hands him a teacup, piping hot, and their hands touch as Credence takes it. He quirks an eyebrow at the English man as he takes a sip, warming his throat down to his stomach. It’s camomile, the taste he associates with his birth mother, along with other half-formed memories of her face and the smell of vanilla. 

Credence has never had the problem of associating his clients with home before, because the alleys and hotels and apartments were steeped in facades of normalcy and other lives, but the bona fide palace Newt lives in smells like a newly dried fluffy animal, and the cushions are heavenly, and Credence could almost live with himself if he didn’t try and get any money out of this deal so he could live in the facade just a little bit longer. Almost. 

“So, what brings you to New York, Newt?” he asks. Clients usually start explaining the details of their business empires, but this one is soft and freckled and chases overgrown birds in the middle of the night, so he actually wants to know. 

“I’m partnering with MAC--the Magical Congress of the US--in their new initiative to rehabilitate magical animals here. Some projects, like Frank, didn’t work as well as first thought, and I’m going to see how he assimilates in Arizona. Refill?” Newt holds out the teapot. 

“Please,” Credence says, and his stomach rumbles. 

“Oh, you’re starving,” Newt says. “The hours you work can’t be very good for your nutritional health. I have human food in here, I swear--” He rushes to the refrigerator before Credence can protest that he’s fine, he’s not been hungry since he was a child. Credence doesn’t want to repay Newt any more than he already needs to, for saving his money and keeping this magical fire warming his chilled bones. 

From Credence’s peripheral vision, he can see Newt bending over the fridge, and sweet heavens, is that a view. Credence wonders how far Newt’s freckles travel over that display, and grins. He is definitely going to find out. 

“I only have leftover pie,” Newt announces, “and some strudel. The Goldsteins save the leftovers of actual food for Jacob, I assume because they like him better. Hm. So, pie or strudel?” 

And that’s how Credence ends up curled in Newt’s coat and a quilted blanket as the sun rises, lying on his magnificent couch cushions, eating pie in front of the fire. If he closes his eyes, it’s like he has ascended from the real world, and is living in some kind of fantasy where he deserves good things, like this man hasn’t made a huge mistake in letting him into his home and giving him his belongings without even asking for anything in return. But Credence doesn’t belong in that fantasy. Within an hour, he needs to arrive at Mary Lou’s church and collect flyers and his morning gruel. Within an hour, this will all be a fading memory. 

He hears Newt whisper something soothing in his ear and tuck him into his blanket, taking the plate of pie out of his hands, before Credence is fading off into sleep. 

He wakes up slowly for the first time in ages, not ushered up by downstairs neighbors bartering with the clients of their moonshine operations or the factory workers slamming doors open after twelve hours on the clock. Credence wakes up and his entire body feels warm and suspended in space, a fuzzy feeling in his stomach, the sound of a crackling fire next to his ear. 

The fuzzy feeling shifts. 

Credence snaps his eyes open. On his stomach is a ball of ears and fur, in the vague shape of a cat, eyes close and snoring as it shifts around on his blanketed stomach. 

He panics for a second, before he remembers Newt and the wonderful miracles that accompanied him. The money he made is stuffed in his sock, and aside from the loss of his coat, he’s not in any position to panic. 

Credence isn’t sure what to do about the fluffy creature on his stomach, though, but it does look cute as it rises and falls with the rhythm of his breaths, and he raises one hand and drags it through the fur that feels as soft as actual feathers. The creature whines in its sleep and twists itself towards his open hand, as if begging him to rub its belly. 

A smile breaks out on Credence’s face, the first of its kind without an ulterior motive. There is no one requesting him to smile because it will make them feel better about the laws they’re breaking fucking him, or one to entice passersbys to take his flyers. He’s not selling himself with this smile. He’s just existing. 

He can’t resist the creature and rubs small circles onto its stomach. It relaxes against Credence, snuggling its snout into his hand. 

“A lovely creature, right?” a gentle voice says from behind him. 

Credence yelps. “Mister Newt,” he says, scrambling to a standing position and clutching the disgruntled animal to his chest. “I’m--I’m so sorry I fell asleep, what time is it?” 

“Don’t worry,” Newt says, and as Credence looks at him, wide-eyed, he sees that Newt is dressed in entirely different clothes that accentuate the best parts of his body, his hair more in check. “Please don’t get up on my behalf. You slept almost twenty-four hours, you might be rather weak on your feet. Let’s get some food into you first.” 

Credence sits down on the couch, processing that marvel. Twenty-four hours he’s been curled up on Newt’s couch, the recipient of Newt’s goodwill, not paying anything in return for free lodging and heat and this small ball of sunshine snuggling up against him. 

Newt brings him another mug of tea, and Credence nods his thanks as he tastes it. It’s not camomile, but a flavor he’s never tasted before. The creature has climbed up onto his shoulder and is nesting against his matted hair. 

Credence looks out Newt’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Indeed, it’s the middle of the night, and electric lights create a picturesque city skyline. But it’s the wrong night. 

“I have to go,” Credence realizes. “Mary Lou will be furious, I might lose my job--” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Newt reassures, and kneels down in front of him so they’re the same height, placing one hand on Credence’s free shoulder. It stabilizes him, and Newt demonstrates his slow and clear breathing until Credence’s rapid pace slows to follow him. 

He wants Newt’s hand on him forever. 

“I took care of Mary Lou. She won’t remember that you were gone a day, if you choose to return to her.” 

“If I choose?” Credence frowns. 

In the light of the fireplace, Newt’s freckled cheeks turn a deep shade of scarlet. “Well,” he says, “you’re wearing the same clothes Frank drooled all over, and you haven’t bathed, and I happen to have a supply of hot water. If you want.” 

Credence’s breath sticks in his mouth. Honest-to-god hot water. “And then you’ll send me on my way?” he asks. 

“If you want,” Newt says. Even his ears are red. Credence can help him along in the words he’s trying to formulate. 

“I can always repay you,” Credence whispers. “In the shower. In bed. For all you’ve done for me.” 

Newt says, “I don’t want you to repay me. I just want to see you happy, and clean, and enjoying yourself. Please don’t think of me as someone who requires anything of you; I’m simply trying to help. You deserve these good things, Credence. I want to make sure you get them.” 

Credence’s mouth is truly dry now, even though he’s finished his tea. He’s only inches from Newt’s delectable lips, all poised and bothered and irresistible. Newt wants to give him these things, warmth and food and hot water--only because he wants to. 

Well, Credence wants to ride him senseless only because he wants to. 

“Newt,” Credence says seriously, “I’m not trying to get you into bed solely because I want to repay you. That’s just an excuse. I really want to see whether these freckles--” he traces a hand over Newt’s cheek and the man stops breathing-- “extend all the way down here.” Credence rakes his hand down Newt’s chest, hooking his thumbs over the man’s belt. 

Newt looks into Credence’s eyes, biting his lip and tightening his grip on Credence’s shoulder. “Well then,” he says, voice almost gone, “if that’s how you feel--” 

“Exactly how I feel,” Credence promises, skating his hands over Newt’s hips as the other man sucks a sharp breath in. 

The gleam in Newt’s eyes are wicked. “Then we should see if the shower can fit two people, can’t we?” 

Credence grins. “It’s like you can read my mind.” 

Newt pulls him up, and gently takes the animal off Credence’s shoulder and places him on a levitating cushion in front of the fire. A smile appears on its face and it snores in peace. 

“Well,” Newt says, “I can’t read your mind. But from the excitement in your pants, I can tell what you want. Now, are you going to leave me and the hot water waiting?” 

“I would never,” Credence promises, smiling in contentment, and follows Newt to the shower. 

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He needs Newt to take him now.

Steam curls around the large porcelain tub, and Credence sits on the lip, breath coming in harsh pants and sweat beading at his brow as he struggles to unclothe himself. All the buttons of his vest seem to catch in the light of Newt’s gaze, the other man directing the knobs of the tub so the water is as hot as could be, and inside this small paradise, it’s as if the snow and sleet outside don’t exist.

Credence pulls his vest off and unbuttons his shirt. In the warm electric light, the previously white shirt is stained with dirt and grime and other unmentionable things, and compared to Newt’s clean and pressed suit, sleeves folded around his elbows and the bathwater staining his bowtie a darker red, he isn’t worth anything. Newt could get a hundred willing people to share this sacred space with him, people who would understand and accept his magic, who would be comfortable among his dainty furniture and plethora of pets, who would go to bed with him without the pretense of money.

Credence knows he won’t ask for a monetary reward from this, because the experience is worth infinitely more than money.

He yanks his shirt off and flings it into a corner where he won’t see, won’t remember his regular life, full of cold nights and going hungry, because this perfect moment won’t be spoiled for him.

As soon as he bares his chest, Newt lets out a sigh, and Credence is so viciously aware of Newt bending over the tub, his head almost at the same level as the tent in Credence’s pants, and Newt is gazing at his chest--pasty and covered in splotches of bruises and embarrassment--with something like hunger, curling his lips over his teeth and cutting off the water.

“It’s ready,” Newt says. “If you’re ready.” A wet hand hovers over Credence’s heaving chest, almost touching the faint marks on his collarbone from an over-enthusiastic client last night, almost brushing against Credence’s perk nipples as he gulps in shallow breaths. The air is too thick with steam, humidity coating the inside of his mouth as he tries to think with his head, as Newt is inches from touching him but is somehow more intimate than any fuck in an alley.

“Ready,” Credence croaks.

“You’ll have to remove your pants.”

Credence looks down at his dirt-scuffed pants, wrinkled and doing a decent job of hiding his excitement, and thinks about what his ratty boots represent, the miles he’s walked in the snow detailed in the soles of his shoes. He kicks them off and stands up to shed his pants, standing fully bare in front of Newt, who’s still in his entire suit, curly hair plastered to his skull with the humidity, water from the bath over the professional attire that has been so debauched by the act of just drawing a bath.

Credence is over-aware of his position, standing, entire body exposed in front of Newt, the bare expanses of skin and the cherry-red color of anguish travelling down to his navel in front of the man still wearing his bowtie, for heaven’s sake. He needs Newt to take him now.

“Have you had a bath before?” Newt asks, voice low and sultry in the acoustics of the tight room, his words closer to Credence’s ears and shivering their way down to his cock.

Credence remembers a time before the orphanage, before being showered with a hose once a week--himself as a baby, floating in a tub of water, giggling, ecstatic.

“I don’t know,” he admits, and Newt is still kneeling next to him, still so close to the heat of Credence’s desire.

“Well, I can’t deprive you of that joy any longer. Get in.”

Credence steps one foot into the tub, and a warm embrace immediately curls around his toes, his ankles, his calves carrying the strain of the continual winter days. He might let out a sigh, he might moan. He doesn’t know what he looks like, flushed and excited and relieved, until he feels pressure against his other foot, still out of water.

Newt’s calloused hands are curled around his foot, guiding it over the lip of the tub and into the water. He’s still kneeling next to Credence, completely subservient, and Credence can feel the hot embrace of his hands even when his other foot is submerged in water, like a lifeline connecting them.

“Sit,” Newt says, and Credence takes it as a command, sitting in the water and letting it rise until it almost engulfs his head. He leans against the edge of the tub, closing his eyes, letting the water surround his body, letting the heat infuse into his bones, warming him to the very core, until the only part of him throbbing is his cock.

He opens his eyes when he feels Newt release his ankle. The man removes his arms from the water, and his sleeves are soaking, despite having rolled them so far up his arms. In the close position, Newt’s face is visible in every part of its flushness, pupils wide, mouth open and inviting Credence to meet it.

Newt says, “If it’s alright with you, I’m going to wash you.”

The picture of Newt dragging a sponge down his stomach is exciting enough that Credence is glad he’s submerged in water, and Credence bites his lip. Yes. “It’s very alright,” Credence assures.

Newt unties his bow tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt, leaving just enough skin exposed for Credence to imagine the way it extends, the tops of chest hair curling out over his shirt. Newt reaches for a sponge and lathers it in a soap that smells of citrus.

Newt winces. “My animals like the smell,” he tries to apologize.

“I do, too,” Credence says, and has to look away to clear the blush off his cheeks. It’s painfully obvious to both of them that Credence does indeed like Newt’s smell, and to have the opportunity to be lathered in the same smell is too good to be true.

Newt reaches over Credence, bracing one arm on his shoulder, sending a shock right down to his cock. Credence is glad for the murkiness of the water, the bubbles that obscure his throbbing. He spreads his thighs as wide as possible, his cock straining against nothing, as Newt begins to rub his scent into Credence’s arm, and his underarm, and the space in his clavicle, dragging the cloth along his chest, the edges fluttering against his nipples, pleasure echoing from just the slightest touch. Credence relaxes, boneless, against the edge of the tub, and drinks in the sight of Newt’s face as he focuses on cleaning him.

He’s looking intently at every inch of Credence’s body, and so Credence has full freedom to look at Newt’s face: the furrow of concentration in his brow, the high spots of blush on his cheekbones, a hint of eyeliner accentuating his wide, blue eyes, his lips, not controlled tightly, now open and deep and a deeper scarlet than his blush.

Newt adds more soap to the cloth, and returns to wash Credence’s neck, pulling him from the edge of the tub a bit so Credence is tucked in the crook of Newt’s neck as the man rubs circles over his own, under his ear, around his chin. Credence could close his eyes and never wake up from this dream.

When Newt starts soaping up his chest, fully lathering circles just around the beads of his rock-hard nipples so Credence has to stifle a groan of equal parts desire and disappointment, Credence is sure his legs can’t get spread any wider in the confines of the tub. Newt doesn’t know how hard Credence is for him, how much getting touched in all the menial places affects him. Newt doesn’t need to know.

But Newt’s cloth travels deeper, and Credence feels him against his abs, and looks at the top of Newt’s head, his curly hair half-pressed against his head, half wild and tangled, and imagines that this is what Newt would look like if he gulped down Credence’s cock, here and now, submerging his beautiful face in water and bringing much-needed pressure to Credence’s ache, with the view of the back of his head as he bends over the tub as he does so.

Credence shakes himself back to reality as Newt skirts past his cock and starts kneading the soap into his thighs, digging his experienced fingers in and loosening the tension Credence has kept from standing and kneeling on the cobbled ground, night after night, all of his history dissolving into the feelings of Newt’s hands on him, one on each thigh, massaging him until Credence lolls his head against the tub, staring up at the ceiling, seeing nothing, just feeling waves of dull pleasure that never end, even as Newt lifts one leg out of the water and drags the cloth through his ankles, wiping the layer of soot from the space where his socks don’t meet the end of his pants, and weaving citrus into his foot, pressing into a muscle Credence didn’t know was cramped until now, when Newt presses up and down on the arch of his foot, digs into the sole, gently encircles one individual toe and then another. When Newt sets his leg back down into the water and pulls out his other foot, Credence looks at the muscles on Newt’s arm, thick and strong and bulging as Newt puts his entire body into easing the stress out of his foot, as his singular concentration is on it. Newt’s arm is a work of art.

Newt places Credence’s foot back in the water and speaks for the first time since he started pleasing Credence more than he knew was possible. “I’m going to shampoo your hair now,” he says. “You’ll need to sit up.”

It takes an ungodly amount of effort for Credence to get his muscles to respond and pull himself up into a sitting position as Newt rubs a large ball of white shampoo so that it covers both his hands, and gently pushes his hands into Credence’s hair, wrapping his fingers around his scalp, and Credence moves towards Newt so he’s almost tucked under his chin as Newt circles his fingers into his scalp in dizzying patterns, cleansing him of the grease and the grime. Credence breathes against Newt’s neck, wet and wanting pants against his neck. Newt’s Adam’s apple bobs as Credence brushes it with his teeth, exhaling onto Newt’s slick skin.

Newt scours the skin behind Credence’s ears, brushing the tips of his fingers against his ears, rubbing down the ears with such precision that Credence can’t help the sound that builds in his throat. Newt pulls off his ears and washes the hair down the back of Credence’s neck, and Credence rests his head against the top of Newt’s chest, where he can drag his teeth through the first hint of chest hair and listen to the rumble in Newt’s throat where his own sound threatens to choke out.

Newt finally releases him, saying, “Let’s wash the soap off.”

Newt slowly pushes him into the water, until Credence’s hair and ears are submerged, and he can’t hear anything except his own ragged breathing as the shampoo disperses around him, until Newt pulls him back up, grinning at him and offering him a towel.

“Done,” Newt proclaims.

Credence runs his tongue over his teeth, and Newt can’t look away. “But we didn’t fuck,” he protests, and even as he says it, he knows that what they did was just as intimate and as rewarding, that he feels like he can fly, like all his worries have been washed away, and Newt has done him a better service than fuck him.

Newt grins and places one hand on Credence’s cheek, his citrus-smelling fingers brushing over Credence’s lips. Credence allows a finger inside his mouth, brushing the clean intrusion with his tongue. Newt shudders.

“The tub can’t really hold two people,” Newt admits, “but the bed certainly can. If you want to wait there, I have to get clean first.”

Credence nods, and Newt opens the door for him. The bathroom is directly connected to the bedroom, and he didn’t look at it as he entered, but now he can see the immense bed covered in quilts, large enough for four people. There is definitely enough space.

Newt closes the bathroom door on him with a promise to be out in a minute or two, and Credence sits on the bed, the chill air not penetrating the aura of warmth surrounding him. Credence air-dries on the bed, sitting on the edge with his legs spread and cock uncomfortably hard in the slight breeze, the room bathed in darkness, the Manhattan skyline twinkling from outside the windows giving him the only light that isn’t peeking out from under the bathroom door.

Credence sits on the bed, waiting and ready and so very clean, wishing for Newt’s deft and strong hands to be on him again, but in the places the man never dared to venture this time. Credence doesn’t dare touch his cock now, doesn’t want to spoil the moment of waiting with bated breath for the best thing that could ever happen to him.

The bathroom door opens and the light bathes Newt in an angelic glow. He steps forward, now dressed in nothing but a towel, and walks towards Credence until they are inches apart. Credence knows Newt can see every part of him, and wants to do the same to this man, so he reaches and slowly tugs the towel off until it falls onto the floor.

Newt is bathed in the same light without the towel, and the soft warm light accentuates his dusky chest, his angular hips, and the cock that juts from his curly hair, as wanting as Credence is. Credence can’t help but lick his lips.

“Come here,” he croaks, and Newt obeys, bending over Credence on the bed, until Credence’s head is pressed on the mattress and Newt is almost over him, leaning into meld their faces together, meet their lips as one, and Credence meets him halfway, sighing into that open mouth so tempting for so long, pulling Newt’s hips down on them so they’re connected in one line from thighs to mouth. Credence’s cock finally gets relief against their skin, and the moan escapes his lips, echoing and captured by Newt’s own mouth. Newt lies between Credence’s legs, mouthing as his mouth and jaw and neck as Credence’s breath grows wilder and more sloppy, stretching his neck out as an offering to Newt to take, to taste as he wishes.

Newt drags his teeth down a line, following where he washed, sucking the citrus taste of Credence into his mouth, breathing at his collarbone, Credence’s skin mapping Newt’s trail with goosebumps. Newt brings his hands up and thumbs at Credence’s nipples, smiling into his neck as Credence whines, jerking his hips.

Newt rubs his palms into Credence’s nipples, letting the all-encompassing heat and pressure elicit garbled moans as he moves his head down and laps one nipple up with his mouth.

Credence almost loses it right there, stuttering, bringing a fist up to his mouth to stop screams of pleasure. Newt only chuckles and leans back down, closing his lips around the nipples and sucking, gently pulling, and Credence bites back his reactions, stops himself from physically keeping Newt there forever, so his tongue can go round and round his nipple until it turns the same color as his engorged cock, slimy from spit and harder than ever.

Newt moves to his other nipple, surrounding it with his mouth, and with his hands massages the overstimulated nipple, keeping it at maximum hardness and receptivity, and Credence is drooling, whining, losing all control of physical reactions, just to keep Newt there. Even his cock is secondary to the sensation of attending to his nipples.

Newt rumbles into Credence’s chest as he removes his head for air, “Don’t worry, I’ll come back to that. Keep--definitely keep making those sounds.”

Credence grins. “As you wish,” he promises, and Newt lets out a groan that shoots all the way into his cock.

Newt sides a palm down his chest and curls it into his hair, brushing it against the base of his cock. As Newt keeps his eyes trained on Credence, Credence bucks into his hands and wordlessly shouts for more pressure.

Newt grins, his tongue poking out of his lips. “You’ve been unattended to for too long,” he admits, and he slides off the bed a bit, until he blows hot breath directly on Credence’s cock and it twitches in desperation. “It’s time I take care of you.”

“Please,” Credence says, steeling every part of himself so when Newt touches him, he doesn’t shoot his load. He at least needs to enjoy this for a minute. “Newt, please.”

Newt blows a stream of air onto the head of his cock again, and Credence fists his hands in the quilts, crying in frustration. “Please don’t tease me,” Credence says. “Please, I can’t--”

In one swift motion, Newt slides his mouth over the tip of Credence’s cock, rolling it around in his mouth.

Credence chokes on his breath, his thighs spasming as he tenses every muscle to not jerk into Newt’s mouth, just lets him sit there with it, swirling it around, tasting the liquid leaking off of it, running his palms up either side as he plays with it.

Newt’s mouth opens up over him and he slides down on Credence’s cock until his nose is hidden by hair, and Credence can feel his throat contract around him, every single point of pressure bonding together to milk his cock for all its worth, and Credence can’t let himself shoot, not yet. He needs to enjoy this.

Newt grins up at him and pulls off, purring, “I know you’re close. If you want to come in my mouth, I’d be much obliged.”

Credence can’t keep the wordless moan in for that, and Newt gulps his cock down again, and starts a slow and rhythmic pace, bobbing up and down and curling his tongue at the top so each time Credence explodes with pleasure, his control hanging on by a hair. Every other part of him is relaxed and accepts pleasure, but he has to hold on to the sensation, the drag, the sucking, as he sees Newt, composed and in control Newt, almost melt as he swallows him down.

Newt winks at him and Credence feels hands encircling his balls, rubbing them with intent and purpose, as if priming them to explode, and as Newt bobs his head up and down, palming his balls, Credence can’t bear it any longer. He sighs breathlessly and lets everything loose, coming into Newt’s mouth, his balls emptying as Newt milks them, every last drop emptied into the back of Newt’s throat, and when Credence comes back to life again, he’s panting, a scream hanging in the air.

He can’t seem to get enough breath in his lungs to say anything, to thank Newt for the experience, to beg for more. And oh, how much more he wants. Newt, now resting against Credence’s outstretched legs, is wiping his lips with the back of his hand, licking his teeth clean, smiling. His cock brushes Credence’s thighs, and Credence can only think of Newt filling him, of fucking him, and how much he wants the contact, the slow burn, being touched in every part of his body.

“Please,” Credence is begging, high-pitched and whining and desperate, incoherent in his neediness. “Please, fuck me, Newt, Mr. Scamander--please.”

“I’ve got you,” Newt is saying, wrapping his strong hands around Credence’s hips and soothing him back down to earth, as Credence’s pleas stop when the pleasure finally abates. “You look quite wrecked. Are you sure you’re up for--” he bites on his lip.

Credence finishes his sentence for him. “Getting fucked,” he breathes. “Yes. I am. Please, take me, I need you to--” He scrambles up on the bed, turning around, spreading his knees and burying his face in the pillows like he’s only done a few times before. He needs this.

From behind him, Newt replaces his hands on Credence’s hips, their heat searing into him, and Newt brushes his cock against Credence’s ass, maybe by accident, but Credence whines, shoving as much cloth into his mouth to keep the sound echoing across the apartment.

“Let me hear you,” Newt instructs. “If--if you wish.”

Credence immediately spits out the cloth and breathes, “Of course.” He cranes his head around to see Newt fumbling with a tube, driven to the point of giving up complete control over his actions because of something Credence had said, losing his composure because of Credence.

Newt opens the tube and squirts liquid on his fingers, rubbing it around on his fingers as fast as possible. “Merlin’s beard, you’re going to be the end of me,” he sighs, and it sounds like a promise Credence intends to keep.

Credence has only had rough fucks on even rougher beds before. He has never lied in a bed fit for a king and gotten fucked by someone who cared enough to bring lubricant, and as Newt puts so much more effort into Credence’s pleasure than he would have thought possible, Credence knows that despite what Newt thinks, Newt is actually going to be the end of him.

Newt touches one cold finger to Credence’s hole, and says, “Is this--okay?”

“Amazing,” Credence gasps, and pulls at his own ass, stretching it, letting the air fall on it, showing Newt that he is beyond ready, that he needs this now and forever. “Please, please just--”

And Newt does insert a finger, the cold radiating up Credence’s spine, and Credence only stretches his body further open, pushing back on the intrusion, joyously gasping at the way Newt’s finger expertly explores him as no one else ever has.

“Another, please,” Credence implores, turning again to see Newt’s face. Newt’s unoccupied hand is pumping his own cock, a soundless sigh on his face as he pulses in and out of Credence at the same pace.

Newt acquiesces, slipping two more in at once, and Credence whimpers at the burn, keening, pushing back all the same. The hunger for it is too strong, and he’s been caressed enough. He needs the burn.

Newt murmurs, almost too soft, “Oh, you’re so ready,” and Credence bites the pillow to hold in the shout of pleasure, of wanting, of the need to cry that he has been ready ever since Newt first really looked at him.

But Newt told him not to hold back his groans, and he wants to do what Newt orders, so Credence reluctantly removes his mouth from the pillow and just moans as Newt’s fingers curl around his sweet spot, sparking a hot twist in his gut, unravelling Credence at the seams that hold him together.

Newt groans, “You’re so stretched, so ready, I could just--”

“Please, Newt,” Credence interrupts. “I need you to.”

Newt hesitates, his fingers stilling inside Credence. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I have fingers left--”

“Get in me,” Credence moans, and later he might berate himself for trying to take charge and take more than Newt expresses his will to give, but right now he could care less. All that’s between him and the fulfillment of Newt’s cock is Newt himself, and Newt needs to understand this. “I’m ready, I swear, I just--I want this so much--”

Newt is silent for a moment, the sound of lubricant sliding over his cock the only sound hanging in the air, before he lets out a rush of breath and says, “If you want it, you definitely deserve to get it.”

Credence pulls at his ass, knows his hole is as exposed as possible for the man, and Newt grabs his hands and flesh and pushes into him, slowly, a low-pitched hum echoing that turns into a growl of pleasure. Credence’s own cock sparks in interest as Newt bottoms out, brushing against his sweet spot again, as Newt grips bruises into Credence’s hips and struggles to breathe as he shakes.

Credence grabs at his own cock so hard it hurts, stroking himself with no sense of style, because Newt is so deep within him that his hips are connected to Credence’s ass, that the front of his thighs are against the back of Credence’s, that Newt is on the bed, dragging Credence to meet him entirely.

“Move,” Credence manages to groan through the incoherent noises coming out of his mouth, through the low groans and the high whispers and everything in between, slightly rocking himself and clenching his muscles around Newt’s head.

Newt sighs and starts rocking back into him, the sound of his balls slapping against Credence filling the air in a rhythmic motion, Credence suddenly pulled up by one arm and pressed against Newt’s chest so they’re connected entirely again, the man’s chest hair dragging against Credence’s back, his groans stifled against Credence’s neck, his free hand searching down past Credence’s hair to reach his cock.

Seeing Newt’s hand secure around his cock and move it even more haphazardly than Credence was is almost orgasmic, as the foreign hand curls around the tip and shakes down, matching the thrusts Credence can feel in his ass and stomach, their cries in tandem. Credence can feel Newt biting his hair, shoving into him with absolute abandon, working to hit the spot that makes Credence clench and shout every time.

“I’m close,” Newt growls around his hair.

“Empty yourself inside me,” Credence orders. “I need it in me.”

Newt stutters to a stop for a second and whimpers, “You can’t just say things like that.” He starts an uncontrolled pace, thrusting wildly, with the sole goal of following Credence’s orders and bringing him whatever he wants, of securing Credence’s pleasure.

Newt bites Credence’s ear, and the sound in his throat is sent straight into Credence. He knows the man is about to come, and Credence tangles his own hand with Newt’s on his cock, pumping it up and down faster so they can pop at the same time.

Credence feels Newt’s release inside him, his cock twitching around Credence’s tightly clenched muscles, and Newt thrusts harder, in abandon, as the feeling of come blooms in Credence’s stomach, the juices buried deep within him. Credence comes into Newt’s hand, and Newt strokes them both through it, his come coating both their hands and splattering his stomach until they both come to a halt.

Newt rests his head against Credence’s shoulder, and Credence can feel Newt’s chest behind him taking gasping breaths. They are still intertwined and connected, and Credence doesn’t want that to change.

Newt uses his free hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Credence’s ear. “Was that to your satisfaction?”

“Was it ever,” Credence sighs. “It was amazing. Everything was amazing. Thank you.”

He turns his head sideways enough to catch Newt’s lips in his own, just for a bit, until Newt removes his softening cock with a squelch and sprawls back on the bed.

“Don’t thank me,” Newt says. “You deserve good things.”

Credence doesn’t know why, but this makes him feel more warmth inside his soul than anything they have done before, all of the heating and fucking efforts combined. Newt truly believes that Credence deserves these miracles that were gifted to him. He sees something Credence doesn’t see in himself.

“I don’t know what to say,” Credence admits.

Newt swallows, and his eyes flicker off Credence’s for a second, hesitating. “You don’t have to say anything,” he blurts. “Just--stay with me a while.”

“What?”

“It’s--lonely here.” Newt still doesn’t meet his eyes. “In this flat. By myself. I know you could use better living conditions, and I want to help.”

Credence glances out the window, where Manhattan gleams in the darkness. “I can’t walk to my jobs from here,” he says.

“Oh, you wouldn’t have to work your jobs,” Newt adds. “I could provide you with money, to--to stay here.”

“I would be your live-in escort?” Credence says, without thinking. He immediately snaps his mouth shut. After everything Newt has done for him, and he just--

Newt only blushes and scratches his neck. “I don’t want to require anything of you. Ever. But I do want to make it worth your while to leave poverty and be treated like a human, for once. I don’t have much, but I do want to share it with you.”

Credence bites his own lip. When he thinks about it, it’s not really much of a choice. He is warmer than he has been since July, surrounded by a mattress made of clouds, a man who spent the last day pampering him and the last hour pleasuring him, who views him as not just an escort but a human, too.

“Okay,” Credence nods. “So what? I just stay in your apartment, warm your bed when you get home from your job?”

“You can do whatever you like,” Newt says. “There might be a bit of magical potential in you, if you wish to explore that in the community of wizards.”

Wizards. Credence hadn’t even thought about Newt’s scandalous identity as the very embodiment of everything the New Salemers hate. However, given they would kick Credence out without a second glance if he divulged the nature of his night occupation, their opinion didn’t mean too much to him.

Newt hesitates. “There’s also a Hanukkah celebration I’m going to with my friends next week, and I would like to introduce you to them, if you wanted--”

“I would love to.”

Newt brightens. “You would?”

“Yes,” Credence says, and he leans forward and kisses Newt. Newt deepens it, and Credence savors the moment until they back out for air. “Thank you for everything.”

“Remember, you deserve all of this,” Newt says, as they tangle their fingers together and lie down on the bed, just resting. “I just want to show you everything you’re worth.”

“And what am I worth?” Credence teases, looking at Newt in the moonlight.

Newt grins. “Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to check out my [tumblr](http://www.bi-dianaprince.tumblr.com).
> 
> This fic now has [art!](http://ttacc.tumblr.com/post/155812826670/ttacc-i-couldnt-sleep-last-night-so-i-kept)


End file.
